


Left Wanting

by silvercobwebs



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 13:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvercobwebs/pseuds/silvercobwebs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angst fic written for genoshaisforlovers on Tumblr, for the Spideypool Secret Santa 2013. In which Wade gets everything he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Left Wanting

'You are so bad at this,' Peter laughs from his position on the couch. 

Wade scowls and raises the controller above his head, as if offering it as a sacrifice to the Gaming god Nin Ten Doe. 'Shut up! I'm totally a ninja and I cannot be defeated.'

'You're playing Mario Kart. Not much call for ninjas.'

'Don't pigeonhole me!' the mercenary harrumphs. He knows Peter's just finding another way to bug him, as if refusing to play with him (again) isn't punishment enough. 

Peter rests his head on an arm and watches Wade thoughtfully. 'Seriously though, you are really bad at this.' His gaze spans the entire room. 'All of it.' The place is a mess. Pizza boxes lay on top of each other like a biohazard version of Jenga, there's hardly anything that resembles clean clothing anywhere, and even Wade has to profess a little concern at the thing that keeps growling every time his hand gets too close to the back of the cutlery drawer. 

'My apartment, my rules. Besides, I'm cultivating a manly musk.'

'I don't mean this rat's nest, doofus. I mean us.'

Wade's finger hovers over the Pause button for a milisecond before he shakes his head and continues. 'Nah, don't think so Petey Pie. You're still here, aren't you? We're doing juuust fine.'

'Wade-'

'Banana FRICK!!'

The screen freezes. 'Now see what you made me do? My fragile pride is in tatters, and that sweet drive's gonna need a lick of paint or seven. Stupid fresh produce and its anti road safety agenda...' He starts gesticulating wildly, and the already frayed connecting cables squeak a little in protest. 

Peter's voice softens. 'Wade...' He shuffles about on the couch for a moment and makes sure to engage in eye contact. 'Let's play a different type of game.'

'Is it Hide the Sausage? Because I'm **really** good at that.'

Peter doesn't even snigger a little. How disappointing. In fact, his jaw clenches. 'No. It's called "Tell Me What You Like About Me".'

'Does poor widdle Spidey need someone to stroke his massive-'

'Wade-'

'Ego! I was going to say ego. Honest. That's ancient Greek for penis, right?'

'Just do it,' comes the clipped command. 

Wade sighs. 'Fine, alright, whatever. Geesh, you're such a delicate little princess nowadays. Oooh, hey, does that count as a thing I like? Okay, so that,' he starts ticking each one off on his fingers, 'and the sexy thing, the ass thing, and y'know,' He shrugs, and the next words tumble from his lips like water from a broken dam. 'the whole kind, funny, genius, ray of hope in the dark thing. Did I mention your butt? It's very important. Possibly above the hope thing but under the sex thing. Heh. Under. Geddit?'

Peter's expression remains the same. 'Now ask me.' 

'Go on then. Make me blush harder than a Japanese schoolgirl whose just discovered hentai.' Wade curls his feet underneath himself on the couch, resting his head on his hands. The game is exited and wade bats his non-existent eyelashes. Peter shakes his head. 

'Here's what I like about you, Deadpool. Nothing.'

'What?' Wade blinks. He's hearing crazy things again. This is never a good thing. We-el, once or twice maybe. 

'Nah, I'm just kidding. You have money, I like that.'

'Wow, that's...' Wade's head lowers momentarily, his gaze adrift. He shakes his head and matches the stare. 'Hey stay off my patch here, kiddo. I have the whole patented assholish charm thing down pat, and let me tell you, it's not really giving me tingles in the right places, you know?'

'I'm serious, Deadpool. You know I am.'

'You, sir,' a finger jabs each syllable, 'are a Grade A premium slice of jerk..'

'I'm everything you want, remember?'

A drawn out pause. 

'Yeah. I remember.'

'Oh c'mon!' Peter eyes roll, and Wade idly wonders if they can do a loop-de-loop. 'The very idea of us is just a joke. I mean, I've dated a model, Deadpool. A model. One with girl parts, a hot redhead to boot – you can't top redheads if you know what I mean... Anyway, let's see who else we have... There's the hot model, the blonde bombshell whose toenail clippings are smarter than you, and if you remember was pretty much the love of my life. There's more of course, way more. And then there's you.'

'Shut up,' Wade murmurs. He can't look away completely. Not just yet. 

'You,' Peter continues, ignoring him. 'You're disgusting, Deadpool, inside and out. You kill people for money! You go against everything I stand for-'

'I'm trying to ch-'

'No, you need to hear this.' Peter stands and suddenly the room has shrunk, his head threatens to brush the ceiling; he's a towering apparition. 'You're violent and you're a crazy son-of-a-bitch, and talk about ugly! Whewee! I've seen roadkill I've wanted to bang more than you.' The room is hot, too hot. There are bubbles in the inside of Wade's skull and his blood is fizzing fizzing... 

'Shut up!' he roars. The controller and loose wires fly through the air and clean through Peter's head. He starts to laugh. 

'And there you have it. That's not even the worst part!' Peter points to where the controller has fallen, accompanied by a small dent in the plaster beside it. 'I'm not even here, dude. This is all you! Aw, what - no witty rejoinder? Maybe that little brain of yours needs a re-tune. I know a professional, only a little bit of a ruthless sadist. Snap, crackle pop! You remember our favourite waltz, don't you?'

Wade's firsts are clenched, now wrapped around his legs in a crushing grip, and all that can be heard is his ragged breaths. 

Peter gets up and crouches directly below Wade's hunched form, his laughter subsiding. 

'Hey, I'd offer a hug, bro – no homo, right? - but there's this whole incorporeal phase I'm going through right now.' He offers an exaggerated pout. 'And I do know how much you'd love it too. Special hugs for special brave little soldiers to get them through the night...' Wade can almost feel warm breath on his ear as Peter whispers low and sweet. 'One little touch to make you feel like a person again.' 

Is Hell really other people when the other person is you? Wade silently asks. 

A snap of the fingers and Wade's ever-fleeting attention is trapped once more.'You know, I think I lied,' “Peter” sits back on his heels, and seems to consider his next words carefully. 'About the worst part, I mean.' He chuckles. 'I'm a slippery little bit of your imagination, aren't I? No, the worst part is that if he – the real Spidey, the real Peter, actual man of your wet dreams were here, Deadpool, you know it wouldn't go down like this.'

'He wouldn't-'

'Oh sure, he'd be freaked as anything by your – **our** little stalkerish crush – but I really, honestly do think he'd be kind. Hell, if he knew what you put yourself through every day, what you're trying to do – maybe he'd even start to like you. But I can't be that guy for you, can I?'

Wade is banging his head against his kneecaps. 'Stop it stop it stopitstopitstopit....'

'Yeah, why don't I get right on that, huh? Why don't you get rid of me, Wade?' Peter asks, voice almost begging. 'You don't want this, not really. Just one little thought and I wouldn’t have to treat you like this and you'd be-'

'-alone.' 

The resulting silence slams into Wade's gut like a fist. 

But this is himself he's talking to, and he can't ever shut up for long. 

'Newsflash, pal, we're always alone.' A ghostlike hand waves through Wade's thigh. 'We just have more creative ways of dealing with it.' 

Wade slowly looks up and into the other man's eyes. 'This is better.' His voice is so rough you could light a match with it. 'This is safer. For everyone.' 

'Coward.' Peter snorts. 'Pansy ass, yellow-bellied, hippie-defendin', Bieber canoodling-'

Each gunshot passes through Peter's form and into the TV, shards flying across the room, several embedded in Wade's skin. It barely registers. He's too busy working out how to perform a lobotomy on himself with a teaspoon and half a bottle of flat Mountain Dew. 

'You take that Bieber comment back!'

'Make me. I double dog dare ya.' 

The gun is tossed to the side and Wade slumps back into the decrepit couch with a sigh, rubbing his forehead. 

'Go on, fraidy Wadey', sing-songs the imaginary figure, splayed on the floor. 'Go and do better than me – than **you**. You don't deserve it, of course, but when he that ever stopped you from trying before? Go on. What are you waiting for? Accident in the Marvel Swimsuit Edition cloning factory? This is about as inspirational as you're ever going to get here buddy, so chop chop-suey, it's no-oww or neverrr...' he begins to croon. 

Wade gets up, strides over to the door and grasps the handle in a stranglehold. He pauses, gaze transfixed by marred flesh and bloody fingernails. His grip loosens. 

'Tomorrow,' he says, challenging the door. 'Tomorrow for sure.'

Words prickle at the back of his skull. 

'But you say that every time.'

 

-end


End file.
